


His Lips Sealed

by LollipopCop



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, First Kiss, First Time, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Making Out, Virgin Crowley (Good Omens), he's just a little oblivious sometimes, upset crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-06-29 23:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19841038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LollipopCop/pseuds/LollipopCop
Summary: Aziraphale knew Crowley was desperately in love with him; he heard it straight from the source one incredibly drunken night. He was just the only one who remembered, and was too afraid to do anything about it.~~~He stared at him for a long moment, and then suddenly surged forward, grabbing Aziraphale by the coat and shoving him hard against the bookcase. Their noses were centimeters from touching, his breath hot on Aziraphale’s skin. “You knew the wholefuckingtime?” he repeated, growling. “And never said a God damned thing?”Not at all the response he expected, Aziraphale only blinked dumbly a few times, hands instinctively grabbing Crowley’s, but not pushing him away.Humiliated?He didn’t understand. All of the anticipation he had before was replaced by ice in his veins. “Yes?” he croaked.Crowley’s trembling fingers tightened around the lapels of his coat. “Howcouldyou?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two wouldn't leave me alone!! So I had to write more.

The thing was, Aziraphale knew Crowley was desperately in love with him; he heard it straight from the source one incredibly drunken night. He was just the only one who remembered, and was too afraid to do anything about it. Crowley’s slurred, affection-laced words went on to haunt him for eighty years.

The timing was all wrong. Aziraphale was desperately in love with Crowley, too, but had only just realized it that very night when it happened. It was in 1941 when he was rescued from the Nazis that he offered Crowley a drink inside his bookshop when he was dropped off. This war was one of the worst things humanity ever concocted, and it depressed them both. Crowley may not have said it, but it was all in the lines around his mouth and his posture. He may have been a demon, but Aziraphale knew by now that Crowley disliked death, and by God, there was so much horrendous death around them.

“I think I do need a drink,” Crowley said, stepping out of his car. 

Aziraphale’s human heart was still pounding in his chest and he was clutching the bag full of books. How did humans deal with their hearts beating so hard when they felt strong emotions? It was a terribly inconvenient sensation. He was reeling from his own epiphany, from how he felt his eyes soften as he stared after Crowley, bag in his hands, heart fluttering with realization. They hadn’t spoken since 1862 after that nasty argument about the holy water, and yet Crowley rushed into a church of all places, feet burning and all, from out of nowhere to save him, and went the extra mile to salvage the books he knew Aziraphale adored. It was a kind gesture, and it hit him that this mischievous being was so much more caring than he let on. The thought had come into his mind without much warning: _He did all of this for me? Oh. He’s made me happy. I think I love him._

The thought immediately frightened Aziraphale more than the threat of being discorporated. What was he thinking? An angel couldn’t love the Damned! What nonsense. What _treasonous_ nonsense. A part of him wanted to be alone, but the dismay in Crowley’s stature was palpable, and he wanted to help.

“Bad times right now,” Aziraphale said simply.

“Understatement,” Crowley said tiredly. 

Just a few drinks wouldn’t hurt, right? Aziraphale could go through a crisis later.

That was how they wound up in the bookshop, hidden away from the chaos outside, drinking steadily for several hours. They were slumped into opposite sides of the sofa in the back of the shop. The alcohol was helping Aziraphale. Not being able to think coherently was a distraction from the newfound, terrifying voice in his head saying _You love him._ Now that the thought was there, though, it was constantly poking at the back of his mind.

Crowley had taken off his hat, hair short and in the style of the time period, as usual. His glasses were a little crooked on his face, revealing the top of his left eye. He was completely sloshed, slurring and stuttering and laughing more than he ever would sober.

Aziraphale stared as he babbled on about nonsense, flushed from the wine and hands moving in the air. Aziraphale missed this. He didn’t regret refusing Crowley holy water, and he thought he had a right to be angry, but he hadn’t realized how much he missed him until now. He was rather good at ignoring his emotions for long periods of time.

Crowley stopped talking. “Ya listening, angel?”

“Yes,” he lied, blinking hard. Maybe his head was a little too fuzzy, but it was either this or consciously think about how wonderful it would be to spend more time with Crowley. They couldn’t. They were supposed to be enemies. A brief visit here and there every few decades was a safe distance. If they spent every night together, he might...heat crawled up Aziraphale’s collar. He couldn’t. For goodness’ sake, he needed to pull himself together. Stop these thoughts in their tracks this instant. These thoughts were not allowed. He would get in unspeakable trouble if Heaven knew he was friends with a demon, but to be in love with one? He might Fall. They would probably kill him. His love was dangerous.

“Mmm, whatever,” Crowley slurred, removing his glasses. His eyes were somewhat unfocused. He had been drinking more than Aziraphale. “Damn, this time period is awful,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Think it’s worse than the fourteenth century.”

“It is very trying,” Aziraphale said, sighing, looking down at the glass in his hands instead of Crowley’s eyes, which always captivated him.

“Not a good thing to wake up to,” he muttered, tilting his head back onto the sofa cushions.

“What?” he squinted at him. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean I just woke up not long ago,” he said. “Was confused as fuck ’bout what’s happening, too.”

“How long were you asleep?” he asked curiously.

“Ohhhh,” he looked up at the ceiling, “’bout seventy-nine years.”

“Crowley!” he gasped. “That’s an awfully long time! We don’t even need sleep.” That explained his long absence. That and their fight...wait. 

“I felt like it,” he said childishly. “Sleep’s good. Lets you,” he waved his hand, “be uncon-uncon-not awake for a long time.”

“I don’t think humans sleep for more than a few hours at a time,” he said while trying to remember the exact year of their fight. 1850? 1860?

“Sucks to be them,” he said before taking a long sip from his glass.

1862\. Exactly seventy-nine years ago. “You went to sleep after we fought,” Aziraphale realized, and regretted it immediately. They had not mentioned their tense last encounter. His brain was too fuzzy to stop his mouth.

Crowley shrugged, looking away, sinking further into the sofa. “Had nothing to do that day. No wiles to fo-foment.” He hiccupped. “Didn’t wanna be awake for a little. That’s all.”

Did that have to do with their fight? Aziraphale could be reading too much into it. There were centuries when they didn’t see each other at all. Maybe Crowley made a habit of sleeping for a long time without his knowledge. “Seventy-nine years is not a little amount of time,” he pointed out.

Crowley lulled his head to the other side to look at him. “For us it is.”

“True. How long have you been awake?”

“Since this morning.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? You only learned of the Nazis today?”

“Uh huh,” he nodded. “Like I said, bad to wake up to. I got up, saw what people were wearing, changed my clothes, and saw there was a war. I went to Hell to check in and they were pissed. It’d been too long since I’d checked in last. But I lied and told them I started the war, so they let me off the hook. I got filled in on everything evil that’s been happening.” He grimaced. “They’re all pleased.”

Aziraphale nodded, but wasn’t listening closely, instead putting the pieces together, his chest feeling tight. “So...We quarreled, you went to sleep until today, woke up, and came to help me?” When he said it out loud, he started to feel guilt about 1862, but more importantly, that he hadn’t thought much of Crowley until tonight.

Crowley blinked slowly, his pupils wider than usual, looking more like ovals than slits. “Yeah. I sensed you were in trouble. So I came.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the voice in his head. _You love him, you love him, you lo_ \- “Even though you were angry with me?” he found himself asking, although he knew the answer. The fact that Crowley rushed to his aid after leaving off on unfavorable terms made Aziraphale’s fondness and remorse grow.

Crowley smiled lazily. “Aw, angel, I couldn’t let ya be disco-corpor-be shot. All that paperwork. And no one could stay pissed at you long. You’re too,” he was waving his hand inarticulately. “You.”

“Me?” he asked, neck hot. “What’s being too me mean?”

Crowley chuckled a little, raising his eyes to the ceiling again. “Hmm, fussy. Really fussy. Posh,” he drawled each sibilant, hissing and unaware. “A bastard." He scrunched his nose. “But you care ’bout people and things. I ’member when you gave your sword to Adam and Eve even though She didn’t want you to. That was cool.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say. _He’s nice. You love him._ No, no, he couldn’t entertain these thoughts.

Crowley kept talking, though. “You and your books,” he said with a sigh that could be interpreted as dreamy. “You’ve got all these lil’ ways about you. They’re annoying sometimes but I like ’em.”

Aziraphale was frozen at his side of the sofa.

Crowley smiled. “I’m glad we’re doing this. Was afraid you wouldn’t wanna drink with me again.”

He swallowed thickly. “Crowley, I only grew cross with you because I was afraid for your safety, and not just about the holy water. If Upstairs or Downstairs knew we were doing this right now—”

“I know,” Crowley cut him off, clumsily rolling over in his side, gazing at him—softly. This demon’s cursed eyes were _soft_. “But I wouldn’t let it happen. Wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Aziraphale knew he was being honest, but he didn’t trust that Crowley would be able to defeat Heaven or Hell. More pressing to his intoxicated brain, however, was that Crowley was saying he was his protector. He was implying that he would defy Hell for him. Did that not conflict with who he was? _He means it. He cares. You love him._ How was this so easy for Crowley? Aziraphale didn’t understand.

Crowley’s goofy, far-off smile widened. He wasn’t at all grounded in reality, barely aware of the words tumbling from his lips. “See, look at your face. Can’t stay mad at that.”

Aziraphale felt his face burn in response. His hands shook around the glass. This was too much. He felt the urge to run, but this was his bookshop. “You’re very drunk,” he said quietly.

“And it fucking feels great,” Crowley laughed loudly. “Drink more!”

“No, thank you,” he muttered.

“You mad at me?” his lower lip stuck out in a pout.

“No,” he denied quickly. “Not at all, dear fellow.” 

“Good,” he smiled in relief. “I just got you back and all.”

Aziraphale could hardly believe he was hearing any of this. To think all of this was bottled up inside the confident, sarcastic demon he knew for close to 6,000 years. “You...won’t lose me again,” he said despite his brain telling him not to. He was caught off guard.

Crowley looked genuinely happy. “Good,” he hiccupped, “’cause I love you.”

Aziraphale dropped his glass. It landed on his lap and wet his trousers. He absentmindedly miracled the cool liquid away. He thought he was going to have a heart attack. He thought his face was truly on fire. “What?” he squawked. “You’re lying,” he accused reflexively.

“I’m not,” he shook his head, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a frown. “When’ve I lied to you?”

Aziraphale raked his brain, but came up blank. He hadn’t told him a lie thus far. He wasn’t sure Crowley would tell a lie like this, anyway, since it opened him up to vulnerability. _You love him, and he loves you. What will you do?_ “Y-you, do you hear yourself?” he asked, borderline hysterical. This couldn’t be real. Crowley saved him multiple times, and was apparently upset by their fight, but love? “You’re full of nonsense!”

Crowley’s exposed eyes were troubled, his lips parting. “No, I know I love you,” he said, leaning (slumping) forward. “You’re my angel. I’ve missed you. I missed you before whenever we didn’t see each other since forever.” His tone was like that of a child wishing to be taken seriously. “I wanna keep seeing you now. We can, right?” he asked hopefully.

Aziraphale needed to do something before his dangerous thoughts became reality. He only just realized he was in love a few hours ago, for Heaven’s sake! He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t turn his back on his kind and elope with the enemy. He couldn’t put their lives at risk. He couldn’t let himself reach over and cup Crowley’s cheek and press their lips together, in the way he had done with humans before during brief, hedonistic sexual encounter—Lord, no. It would be a sin. He would Fall at best. They would destroy him and Crowley at worst. He couldn’t allow himself to give into this unwise, heretical desire. The most unsettling thought of all, perhaps, was that this confession did not contradict with Crowley’s previous behavior. If anything, things started to click into place. How long had he felt this way?

“I’m,” Aziraphale’s voice was small but hoarse. “I’m an angel. You’re a demon. We can’t—”

“We’re _us_ ,” Crowley said. “We’re on our side. Aziraphale,” he uttered his name with surprising clarity given his drunken state, “you’re so special to me. Please, gimme a chance? I’ll do anything you want,” he pleaded, his features growing pained, expression raw, unadulterated and yearning.

Aziraphale needed to end this conversation immediately, but he didn’t want to break Crowley’s heart. Now he knew Crowley _had_ a heart, and...and it belonged to him. _And yours belongs to him. You love him. Look at his face. You want him._ Shaking his head roughly, he quickly said, “May you fall asleep quickly and deeply!” He snapped his fingers.

Crowley’s eyes instantly shut and his mouth dropped open, cheek smushed against the back of the sofa. His face was completely relaxed, dead to the world in an instant. 

Aziraphale sobered up, and that was a mistake, because he instantly felt worse to the point of his eyes welling up with tears. He could feel it now in his chest, how much Crowley loved him. It was a frightening amount, and even more disconcerting now that Aziraphale realized this feeling was always there; he had just assumed this was what Crowley’s aura felt like.

“Oh, my dear,” his voice cracked. He couldn’t give Crowley what he wanted. He couldn’t defy Heaven. He couldn’t...He just couldn’t. He got up on unsteady legs and quietly cleared away the glasses and bottles of wine. He needed to go upstairs. He needed to be alone. The sound of his weeping would surely awaken Crowley, anyway, regardless of the miracle. Before he left, he looked back at Crowley, curled up and fast asleep. His heart clenched. “When you wake up,” he whispered, “you’ll have dreamed of whatever it is you like best.” He snapped his fingers.

Crowley grinned in his sleep. “Angel,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale fled upstairs.

The next morning, Crowley woke up with a terrible hangover and complained that he didn’t remember passing out. He didn’t remember the conversation that took place the last half an hour or so before he passed out, either.

Aziraphale pretended nothing out of the ordinary happened and hated himself for it.

“I’ll be off now,” Crowley said, putting on his hat and sunglasses. “See you around,” he said casually.

“Yes,” Aziraphale gave a curt nod. “See you.” 

He didn’t speak to Crowley for sixteen years after that.

* * *

Aziraphale had to return the favor of his rescue. He didn’t want to give Crowley holy water, but it was better if he gave it to him, sealed tight in a thermos. Crowley could be killed trying to obtain it himself. It was difficult seeing him again. After 1941, Aziraphale tried to block Crowley out of his mind as much as possible. He tried to forget his words, and his own feelings. It was better this way. But seeing him again made his wave of love dangerously close to the surface.

Aziraphale caught the disappointment on Crowley’s face when he turned down a ride and guilt stabbed his gut. _It’s because he loves you. He wants to be with you. You know this._

“I’ll give you a lift,” Crowley offered again, “anywhere you want to go.”

Aziraphale hated that he had to deny Crowley’s feelings, but what else could he do? He wasn’t ready for this. He didn’t know if he would ever be. “You go too fast for me, Crowley.” Despite the sunglasses, Aziraphale saw the hurt on his face. He got out of the car, the memory of Crowley’s drunken confession ringing in his ears.

* * *

Aziraphale had been afraid when Crowley suggested drinking, but he didn’t get as drunk as 1941, and mainly stuck to talk about Armageddon. Aziraphale was grateful. The end of the world was easier to deal with than his emotions. He still felt warm with Crowley near, though, his aura of love a familiar presence in Aziraphale’s chest. _He still loves you._ He absolutely couldn’t deal with talk of defying Heaven’s plan and wishes while drunk, not with him here, so he sobered up. When they shook hands on their anti-Christ plan, Aziraphale’s palm felt hot for days.

The conflict between his love and his belief in Heaven’s judgment made him do a terrible thing. Aziraphale was incredibly stressed and, frankly, scared. The end of the world was coming, and Heaven wasn’t listening to him. They seemed to want the war. It went against everything he thought about Heaven, and if they were wrong about this, they may have been wrong about other things. They may have been wrong about he and Crowley being enemies. If Aziraphale thought Heaven was mistaken about Crowley and their relationship, then what would stop him from acting upon his desire—his desire that was growing the more time they spent together? This was beyond anything he was prepared for at a time like this, so he lashed out.

“We can go off together,” Crowley said, arms outstretched, optimism in his voice.

There it was: what Aziraphale wanted most. He couldn’t take it. “There is no ‘our side’ anymore, Crowley!” he snapped. “Not anymore. It’s over.” The words were poison on his tongue. But it was the way Crowley’s posture changed, how the fire seemed to leave his stance and surprise, then sadness, then anger washed over him before he walked away. Aziraphale hurt him. He knew Crowley loved him, and he hurt him. He had to look away, tears stinging his eyes.

It was worse when Crowley came back to him a few hours later, begging to run away to the stars with him. Guilt was eating Aziraphale alive when he rejected him again. 

“I’m going home, angel!” Crowley stomped to his car. “I’m packing my things and I’m leaving! And when I’m off in the stars, I won’t even _think_ about you!” he yelled, waving his arm dramatically.

What stung about that was Aziraphale knew he was lying; he wouldn’t stop thinking about him. Crowley still loved him. He could feel it. 

The worst was when he spoke to Metatron and received final, explicit confirmation that Heaven was not going to help, and instead desired the war. With this crushing information inherently came the following realization: Crowley was _right_ about Heaven, and Aziraphale grossly misplaced his faith. He spent all this time thinking Heaven knew best, but they so clearly did not. He felt like an idiot.

_“You’re so clever! How could someone so clever be so stupid?!”_

Crowley hit the nail on the head, didn’t he? Aziraphale’s worldview was shattering around him, but Crowley was the one constant, so he rushed to call him, hoping he hadn’t left for Alpha Centauri. They had a world to save.

* * *

Now, it was all finally over, including their body swap plan. Being in Crowley’s body tempted him like nothing else ever had before, but he resisted the urge to look at his body while unclothed. He had to focus, and it would have just felt wrong somehow. But here they were, a few weeks after the failed apocalypse and their successful ploy against their former superiors. Aziraphale was, for the first time, not shackled to Heaven’s ideology. Perhaps it should have taken him longer to warm up to the idea of Heaven being wrong, but he had that suspicion for years, didn’t he? After all that vehement denial, admitting it was like a sigh of relief. He didn’t have to constantly worry about doing the wrong thing anymore. This made his feelings more insistent than ever. He spent eighty years repressing his love for Crowley and the memory of that night, fear paralyzing him. However, Heaven and Hell believed they were invincible and agreed to leave them alone, and Aziraphale knew that of all things, Heaven was absolutely wrong about Crowley. He was rude, and a troublemaker, and had a wicked streak, but he was, deep down, just a little bit of a good person. 

He could do something about his feelings now. He knew Crowley loved him. All he had to do was say it back. They were spending more time together now, and it was so _easy_ to love Crowley now that Aziraphale let himself. Loving was in his nature, and despite those difficult eighty years, he never stopped, not ever. It was just less painful now. He no longer believed they were enemies on opposite sides—they were on humanity’s side, and Crowley was never his foe. There was nothing stopping him.

Aziraphale was so caught up in his newfound feeling of liberation that he, perhaps, did not think this through.

Since their meal at the Ritz, Crowley had been hanging around the bookshop lately. Sometimes he turned into a snake to scare away customers who got too close to making a purchase, but right now, the shop was empty and he was draped over a chair. He was fiddling with his phone, but Aziraphale still didn’t understand how that small thing with no physical buttons could be considered a telephone.

“You’ve got to catch up with the times,” Crowley said lazily. “No one uses a rotary phone anymore. You’re close to fifty years behind.”

Aziraphale eyed the small black device in Crowley’s hand warily. “I’m quite content with my telephone, thank you.”

Crowley made a face and went back to doing whatever the heck he was doing on that thing.

Aziraphale noticed that this felt nice, just spending time together, lightly bickering, no threat of their bosses storming through the door. It was peaceful. Sunlight was coming in through the windows, highlighting Crowley’s copper hair. Aziraphale found himself smiling. 

Crowley stopped typing and looked over at him, eyebrow quirked above the sunglasses. “What?”

Aziraphale had been wondering how to approach the subject for the past few days, but, well, he knew Crowley loved him, so why not just go for it? He could be the brave one for a change. “I was thinking,” he leaned against a tall, sturdy bookcase, his pulse fluttering in anticipation, “of 1941.”

“1941?” Crowley asked, putting the phone in his pocket. “What about it?”

“Well,” Aziraphale folded his hands together, feeling a little nervous even though he knew the truth, “remember the night of the church?”

“When I had to save your arse from discorporation by Nazis?” he smirked, cocky. “Yeah, I do. Why?”

Aziraphale had a feeling that cocky smirk was about to disappear, but it would be good. He was ready. He could give Crowley what he wanted. He didn’t belong to Heaven anymore. “Yes, but after the church?”

Crowley shifted, crossing his leg over his knee, a curious tilt to his head. “Er, we came back here and drank, right? I got absolutely sloshed. I passed out. Never did that while drinking with you before, or even since then.” His tone was light and casual, with no indication that he was hiding anything. He truly didn’t remember.

Aziraphale knew this, but wanted confirmation. “It was a difficult time,” he said.

“Damn right. But, yeah, I remember that night. Why were you thinking about it?”

Aziraphale shuffled a little on his feet. This was it, the culmination of hiding his love for eighty years. If he hadn’t known how Crowley felt, he may not have had the courage to do this, even now. Aziraphale could try to live with suppressing his own love, but refusing Crowley’s made him feel awful. He could remedy the situation. “You said some things while you were drunk,” he said, trying to remain calm.

Crowley didn’t move, but the pause before he spoke gave away the change in mood. “I did? Uh, everyone says things while they’re drunk,” he said, fingers drumming on the edge of the chair. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Aziraphale was fiddling with the ring on his pinky finger, sliding it on and off. _Go_ _on_. _You_ _love_ _him_. “You said you missed me when we didn’t speak after 1862, and you were afraid I wouldn’t want to drink with you again.”

Crowley was breathing heavier, visible by the subtle movement of his shoulders. “Um. We-we’re best friends, so. I mean, I didn’t miss you _that_ much. I slept most of the time.”

Aziraphale was undeterred. “I realized I’d missed you, too.”

Pink bloomed on Crowley’s cheeks and he swallowed. “It’s all water under the bridge. We’re good now, yeah? You don’t have to do—whatever this is. It’s fine. Really.”

Aziraphale took a steadying breath. “You said something else.”

“What?” he asked quickly.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but the words were stuck in his throat. He was about to change them forever, and although he adored Crowley, this still wasn’t easy for him.

“What did I say?” Crowley asked with a touch of anxiety, standing up.

“You told me you love me,” Aziraphale blurted out, and just like that, the secret he kept for eighty years was out in the open, the weight on his conscience lifting.

Crowley’s cheeks were stained red as his jaw dropped open, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. He looked struck by lightning. His lip quivered a little before he clenched his jaw, shutting his mouth. He pushed the sunglasses up on his nose to prevent even a portion of his eyes from being seen. “I don’t—I couldn’t have—” he denied, flustered.

“You did,” Aziraphale said gently, clasping his hands together tightly and putting them behind his back, his love warm and flowing inside him. “I remember every word.”

Crowley stammered nonsensically. “Agh-muh-A-are you lying?” he asked quietly, but his breathing was growing faster and more erratic.

Aziraphale frowned. “What? No. I would never lie about something like this.” Perhaps more context was needed. “I can feel it, as well, you know,” he put a hand over his middle. “Your love, I mean.”

“W-what?” he asked, sounding horrified, looking trapped.

Aziraphale didn’t like how this was going. “I can feel love. I didn’t realize that was what your aura radiated for a long while, but I always feel it when you’re near. Crowley, you should breathe slower.”

“What happened after?” Crowley took a step forward. He was still bright red, but there was something hard underneath the surface of his voice. “What did you say? Why can’t I remember?”

Aziraphale was getting worried, a shiver wrapping around his spine, the warmth of his love dimming. “I…” He cleared his throat. “Well, dear, you were extremely intoxicated. I was taken aback. I didn’t think you were serious at first—”

“But you didn’t tell me I said any of this,” he took a couple slow steps forward, a scowl forming on his lips. “Why not?” He clenched and unclenched his hands into fists. “You,” he rasped, then gulped. He looked defeated. “You couldn’t have said it back if you left me in the dark all this time,” he inferred, and he sounded _crushed_ , his eyebrows furrowing in distress, lower lip wobbling imperceptibly.

Shame zapped the last of the warmth from his chest. “Crowley, that was before. A lot has changed since then,” he tried to reason, but he could feel suffering in Crowley’s aura. He needed to make him feel better, but Crowley spoke before he got to explain himself.

“Since 1941, you’ve known I love you,” Crowley muttered gruffly, clenching his hands into fists again, the red on his cheeks seeping down to his neck. His eyes were perfectly hidden behind the sunglasses, unreadable. He was breathing heavily out his nose.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, not knowing why he was so perturbed. He wished he could see his eyes to gauge his true feelings. “But—”

“So, what?” Crowley asked, venom seeping into his voice. “You knew I’d humiliated myself in front of you this whole time...?” He trailed off, anger radiating off his normally loving aura. He stared at him for a long moment, and then suddenly surged forward, grabbing Aziraphale by the coat and shoving him hard against the bookcase. Their noses were centimeters from touching, his breath hot on Aziraphale’s skin. “You knew the whole _fucking_ time?” he repeated, growling. “And never said a God damned thing?”

Not at all the response he expected, Aziraphale only blinked dumbly a few times, hands instinctively grabbing Crowley’s, but not pushing him away. _Humiliated_? He didn’t understand. All of the anticipation he had before was replaced by ice in his veins. “Yes?” he croaked.

Crowley’s trembling fingers tightened around the lapels of his coat. “How _could_ you?”

Aziraphale’s throat was tight, Crowley’s dejected demeanor piercing his chest. “Crowley, you don’t understand. I love you, too,” he revealed. He never uttered those exact words in over 6,000 years, and they felt foreign on his tongue.

Crowley scoffed, letting him go roughly and stepping backwards. “Yeah, right.”

“I do,” Aziraphale asserted, wanting to reach out to him but deeming it unwise. Why didn’t Crowley believe him?

“Uh huh, and that’s why you let me mope after you like a fucking idiot for eighty years,” he put his hands on his hips, his confrontational stance debased by his voice sounding like shattered glass.

The gravity of his feigned ignorance became clear. Crowley was a demon who snapped just a few weeks ago for being called nice. Anyone knowing he wasn’t evil seemed to be an uncomfortable sore spot for him; for Aziraphale to have known his deepest, most well-guarded secret that went everything he was supposed to be as a demon—that he felt something as deep and caring as _love_ —for decades must have been a mortifying discovery. All this time, he saw past the façade, knowing Crowley was all talk. For Crowley, it must have been a seriously vulnerable experience. Aziraphale hadn’t considered this, and he felt extremely foolish. “I’ve never thought you were an idiot,” he said honestly.

Crowley just shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m still talking to you.”

“Don’t go,” Aziraphale reached a hand forward, not being able to stop himself, heart bleeding for Crowley.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled, stepping backwards, the tips of his ears crimson.

Aziraphale withdrew his hand and clutched it to his chest. This was worse than when he tried to break off their relationship before the world was supposed to end. Everything was rapidly going south. “Crowley, please listen to me,” he implored. “I never meant to cause you distress.”

“Then why did you never say anything?” he demanded.

“I was frightened!” he admitted, shame stinging his cheeks. “I wasn’t ready, Crowley. I still believed Heaven was right about everything, including our relationship being treasonous.”

“So you didn’t want to be with a foul fiend like me,” he accused, voice like gravel.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he narrowed his eyes. 

“What’s changed?” Crowley asked, his tone sharp. “Did you finally warm up to the idea that being with me wouldn’t be a dirty sin?”

“You’re being unfair,” said Aziraphale, growing angry. “You know they would have killed us if they knew we were together. That kept me from telling you, too! Heaven discovered we were friends and Sandalphon punched me in the gut, for Heaven’s sake!”

The fire flickered on Crowley’s face for a moment. “He _what_?”

“He did. That was just from our being friends. Can you imagine if we were an item?”

The tightness in his shoulders faded, his posture slumping a little. 

“But _that_ aspect has changed now,” Aziraphale went on. “They’ll leave us alone. They think we’re invincible.”

Crowley sighed heavily, looking down at the floor. “I don’t want to see you right now.”

“Why?” he asked, voice breaking. “I’ve told you the truth.”

Crowley looked up, but his sunglasses had slid down a little, revealing some of his melancholic gaze. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but biting. “When I told you I’d take you anywhere you want to go, when I wanted you to run away with me, when you said you didn’t even like me and wouldn’t tell me where Adam was, you did all that knowing how much you meant to me.”

The ice in Aziraphale’s veins made goosebumps break out over his skin. He couldn’t retort. It was the truth. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, hoping the pressure in his eyes wasn’t from tears.

Crowley lifted his hand higher, pushing the glasses back up his nose. “I need to be alone. Don’t follow me.” He snapped his fingers and was gone.

Aziraphale stared at the now empty air. He didn’t think he ever made a mess quite like this, but he made his mistake eighty years ago. All he could have done in the present was be honest, and it ended disastrously. He naïvely thought everything would be fine once he told Crowley he loved him. He thought they could kiss. He thought…

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” he said to the air. He was empty. He woodenly flipped the sign on the door to “Closed” and went to the chair Crowley was sitting in. He curled up in it. What if Crowley didn’t come back for decades? Centuries? Aziraphale had been able to bury his love before, but now, it filled him to the brim, painful and impossible to ignore. He put his hand over his chest. Rejection hurt. His head was spinning. Even if they didn’t meet again for a long time, he needed to make Crowley understand every reason behind his actions. If for no other reason, Crowley deserved that. 

Pushing his anguish aside enough to walk over to his desk, Aziraphale knew what to do. He took out a pen and a piece of paper. If Crowley didn’t want to hear what he had to say, maybe he would read it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise softness in the next chapter :)


	2. Chapter 2

_Crowley_ _,_

_Please do not immediately light this on fire. I must tell you the full scope of the reasoning behind my actions—or inaction—since 1941. All I ask is that you let me explain. I already told you I feared for our safety, and indeed, that was one of the largest obstacles between us. As I said, Heaven discovered our fraternizing right before the world was supposed to end. Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon approached me on the pavement, not long after you wanted me to go to Alpha Centauri with you. Michael called me a “fallen angel”, and Uriel told me you were in trouble, too. Did Hell come after you, as well? The point is that my worst fears came true, and it terrified me. Michael told me to choose sides and Sandalphon punched me in the stomach. Uriel called you my “boyfriend in the dark glasses.” Their response was simply for our platonic interactions. They absolutely would have destroyed us if we had done anything more. I do not think I was unreasonable for being afraid. I resisted my own sentimental feelings for you precisely because of how I knew Heaven would react. I knew I felt so deeply for you, Crowley, but fear paralyzed me. Aside from my own safety, I knew Hell would destroy you, too, if they found out. I would not risk your safety._

_However, it was not solely fear of extinction which kept my lips sealed. I was dreadfully obedient to Heaven, as you well know. I lacked the courage and strength to defy them. Since I believed Heaven must be right about everything, I could not allow myself to consider that being with you would not be heretical. I am telling you this as an explanation, but not an excuse. I realize the extent of my cowardice and gullibility. I only learned just how wrong Heaven can be when I attempted to speak to a higher authority to stop Armageddon after I was confronted by Michael and co., and was severely disappointed upon discovering Heaven is as bloodthirsty as Hell. It took me until the last hours of Earth to see the light, so to speak. Once it finally dawned upon me that it was possible for Heaven to be wrong about something as major as Armageddon, I knew they must be wrong about you, too, and our companionship. Our friendship is reprehensible to Heaven and Hell, but we never truly belonged to them, did we? I wanted to belong, but not anymore. I am no longer Heaven’s obedient pawn, and I never will be again. I would rather be turned mortal than serve them. Every time I pushed you away, it was because of my allegiance to them, but never because of my true thoughts on the matter. Perhaps it is appropriate to say I was brainwashed by Heaven. I curse myself for never questioning them, never critically, for over 6,000 years. Think me an idiot. You would be correct._

_When you told me you loved me that night, you unwittingly told me to question all I had ever known for my entire existence up until that point. I must emphasize once more that this is an explanation, not an excuse. I was not ready to allow myself to love you until now, but I knew it then. That was the final factor which immobilized me; I had only discovered just how dear you are to me that very night in 1941. My first reaction upon seeing you enter the church was annoyance since we had left off on such unfavorable terms, but within moments I knew you were still my friend. When you rescued me and my books from the church, it was enough to make me realize I loved you. It was a very kind gesture, Crowley, do not deny it. You knew the books were special to me, so you went out of your way to salvage them. It dawned upon me just how caring you can be, at least towards me. When I realized I loved you, I was terrified and dazed as you drove me home. I was already wrestling with this new realization when you confessed your love to me, and I lacked the resolve to do anything but pretend as if it never happened. I was woefully unprepared to challenge my assumptions about Heaven and Hell and how you and I should and should not behave. You must understand that I never considered you a “foul fiend”, not truly, but it is what Heaven thinks, so I told myself we could not be together because of who we are. Back then, your retort to this assertion was that we are on our own side. You were right and I should have listened to you._

_Now, I do not think being with you would be a sin, for love cannot be sinful. What I feel for you is purer than anything in Heaven. If we were to become an item, that would be the purest of all: two weathered souls joining into one. I think humans are correct to believe in soulmates, because I truly believe you are mine. Why else would we be meant for each other, despite the odds? I love you, not in spite of who you are, but because of it. I will not act as we see eye-to-eye in everything, but I know there is good in you. No one ever went out of their way to rescue me from anything besides you. Despite this, I must say I have grown rather fond of the things which I should disapprove of, such as your little habits which make you a mischievous old serpent. I suppose you have rubbed off on me. After being my only constant in this planet for six thousand years, it was inevitable. It is more than that, however. I admire how you have always been yourself, always followed your heart despite Hell’s threats. You never let Hell stop you from being you, which is so much braver than I have ever been. You amaze me._

_I am truly sorry for all this. I was unaware of the grief I would cause you, but know that it hurt every single time I pushed you away, precisely because I knew the truth. I never took pleasure in being unkind to you. It_ killed _me, Crowley. I have never loved any of Her creations as much as I love you, but I was convinced my feelings were wrong. I did not blame you, but myself for being so weak. I was weak, but not due to my fondness for you. I wish I had thought for myself; it would have saved us so much nonsense. I should have considered your emotions more. I was incredibly self-centered about the whole affair, wasn’t I? I knew you loved me, but prioritized my own apprehension and ideology. My dearest...I broke your heart, didn’t I? How terrible of me. I apologize, profusely, once again. You deserve better than what I have given you. What do humans say, “It’s not you, it’s me”? I believe that sums it up quite nicely. Know that I have always respected you and never thought you a pathetic, lovesick fool. No, that was me. I love you desperately, Crowley, and regret not telling you sooner, despite the danger it would have put us in. We could have attempted to work something out together. I do not know what, but somehow, we always figure it out. Sometimes, I would allow myself to imagine what it would be like to hold you close, away from the rest of the world, and feel your skin against mine. You’re cold-blooded, but I could warm you. We could embrace for as long as we would like. These thoughts once frightened me, but only make me yearn now. I long to shower you with affection, dear. I understand if you need space, but I do hope you have read all of this. You are all I want in this universe, Crowley. I want to spend the next six millennia with you to make up for the previous ones. We have fun together, don’t we? If you could forgive me one day, we could have some more. I will wait as long as you need, my darling. I promise._

_Your angel,_

_Aziraphale_

* * *

It had been the most difficult letter Aziraphale ever wrote, but he did it, discreetly sliding it under the door of Crowley’s flat and then rushing back to the bookshop. His entire being ached with guilt over how badly he harmed Crowley, but all he could do was apologize and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And somehow, waiting became so much harder once their feelings were out into the open. A full five months passed without a word from Crowley, and they were the most agonizing five months of his immortal life. He went decades without speaking to Crowley before, but this time was so much different. Aziraphale wouldn’t push him, but he had to know if he read the letter. If he did, then fine, Aziraphale would leave him be. If he didn’t? He would...well, he’d do something to ensure he read it.

That was how Aziraphale, feeling ridiculous, found himself on the floor in front of Crowley’s flat, trying to look under the door and see if the letter was still there. He couldn’t tell. He stood up and pressed his ear against the door, but was met with silence. Anxiety gurgled in his stomach. He waved his hand and unlocked the door, quietly peeking inside. He didn’t see Crowley, but his heart sank when he saw the letter on the floor. He hadn’t read it, then.

Aziraphale blinked back tears, picking it up. He deserved the worst cold shoulder treatment in the world, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Was Crowley even here? What if he ran away across the world? What if he were gone for millennia? 

Aziraphale needed to be sure, so he, as quietly as he could, walked through the flat. If he were in another room, Aziraphale would leave the letter there and go home immediately. He figured the letter moving to a different spot would be enough of a hint. He didn’t see him, though, and was about to lose hope when he saw the door to the bedroom cracked open (Crowley had said he liked sleeping, and liked doing it on the walls and ceiling, but kept an actual bed in case the mood struck). Pressing his ear against the wood, his pulse kicked into high gear when he heard a faint sound. _Oh!_ He looked into the room and saw a human-sized lump under black blankets.

Aziraphale held back a sigh of relief, and grew sad when he realized Crowley must have gone home to sleep his pain away. It was 1862 all over again. He moved inside the room as quiet as a mouse. Crowley was curled up under the covers, only his head visible, cheek smashed into the pillow and mouth open, and Aziraphale quirked up an eyebrow when he realized the soft sound he had heard was snoring. They didn’t even need to breathe, and yet Crowley snored? Aziraphale shook his head, but felt fond. Did humans usually find snoring endearing? He didn’t know. He wanted to run a hand through Crowley’s hair, smooth the fringe away from his forehead. More prevalent, however, was the guilt clawing at his insides. _Look how you hurt him. You did this. You knew he loved you._ He gently placed the letter on the adjacent pillow (why did he have a double bed? No matter), waves of warmth and remorse rolling through him. It was an odd but familiar duo.

Aziraphale swallowed hard, noticing how Crowley’s features were perturbed in sleep. “When you wake up, you will have dreamt of whatever it is you like best,” he whispered, and he prayed Crowley wouldn’t awaken with the snap of his fingers. He remembered that game-changing night in 1941, and just as before, in spite of everything, Crowley mumbled, “Angel.”

“I love you, dear,” Aziraphale whispered, heart full, dangerously close to glowing with divine light. “Please wake up soon.” He left as quietly as he entered.

* * *

Nine months passed. Considering Crowley’s nap from 1862 to 1941, this wasn’t a long time, but it seemed endless to Aziraphale. He tried to occupy himself. He read, of course, and he even purchased a computer to figure out what all this fussing over something called the World Wide Web was about. That, admittedly, took up a lot of his time. Once he learned how to turn the thing on, then there was the task of actually using it, and finally discovering what on earth was on this odd Internet thing. He was delighted when he discovered YouTube and realized he could watch snippets of performances of his favorite musicals, but clicking on more videos led to him reading the comments, and really, there was no need for such vulgarity! He shut off the computer in disgust and wondered if Crowley had anything to do with the Internet, and only missed him more.

It was probably the loneliest time in his life, being estranged from Heaven and Crowley. He felt human, like a very lonely human. How did these beings deal with heartache? They were much stronger than angels and demons thought. He had a couple regular customers—or, people who knew he didn’t want to sell but enjoyed occasionally coming in to admire the collection, and he was fine with that—who actually noticed a change in Aziraphale’s demeanor and asked if he was okay.

He had been surprised anyone noticed. “Excuse me? Oh, y-yes. Of course. Thank you for asking.”

“Are you sure?” the elderly woman asked. “Where’s your handsome friend with the sunglasses? I haven’t seen him around lately.”

Aziraphale hoped his face didn’t showcase his pain. “Gone on holiday,” he lied.

“Oh,” the woman smiled, “well, don’t you worry. He’ll be back.”

Aziraphale didn’t feel like arguing, but wondered what Crowley’s reaction would be to learn a random elderly woman thought he was handsome.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but hope Crowley returned whenever his door opened, and was crushed every time. When it actually happened, Crowley didn’t use the door at all.

It was an evening in the late summer, and Aziraphale was curled up on the sofa with an old copy of _Hamlet_ in his hands, feeling sentimental.

“Of course you’re reading that.”

Aziraphale gasped and his head shot up, jumping slightly. “Oh, goodness!”

Crowley was there, on the opposite side of the sofa, in the same spot he was in all those years ago. The letter was in his hands. As usual, he was wearing his sunglasses, but they were low on the bridge of his nose. His eyes were shiny behind the lenses, downcast, and his lip quivered slightly before settling into a frown.

Aziraphale put the copy down on the arm of the sofa beside him, his full attention on Crowley. He folded his hands together nervously, twiddling his thumbs. After fourteen months, he didn’t know what to say. But Crowley was _here_ , so that was a good sign, yes? He couldn’t fight the pang in his chest as he took in Crowley’s expression and posture. That, on the other hand, was not a good sign.

Crowley lifted his eyes, visible behind the lowered lenses. He breathed in a slow, deep breath through his nose, fingers fidgeting with the letter. “You broke into my flat,” he said, monotone.

“I did,” he admitted easily, no use in lying. He was unnerved, however. “I, um, had to make sure you read it.”

Crowley looked down at the letter. “I read it,” he said roughly. “A lot.”

Aziraphale felt his wings trembling anxiously in another plane. “What are your thoughts?”

Close to thirteen seconds of silence passed. “Heaven really had a tight grip on you, didn’t it,” he said, yellow eyes lifting to meet his. It wasn’t a question.

Aziraphale shrunk in on himself in shame. “It did.”

Crowley decided to remove his glasses, putting them in his suit jacket pocket. His eyebrows were furrowed, and there seemed to be a mixture of unhappiness and compassion in his eyes. “You were always so trusting,” he said.

Aziraphale winced. “I suppose.”

His mouth pulled into a thin line. “Don’t look like that. I’m not accusing. Just observing. I thought I’d known how difficult all this was for you, but I guess I underestimated.”

Aziraphale shifted on the cushion, feeling cornered. “I was weak.”

Crowley shook his head slowly. “I Fell for asking questions about God and how Heaven was run. I know firsthand how She doesn’t like disobedience. I should’ve tried to see where you were coming from more.”

It was a level of understanding that pulled on his heartstrings. “Don’t make excuses for me.”

“I’m not,” he shook his head again. “I’m being honest. When have I ever sugar-coated things?”

“Never,” he conceded.

Crowley sat forward on the sofa, leaning his elbows on his knees, head bowed towards the floor. “You were really scared,” he started, his voice deep with a slight rumble. “But you still.” He swallowed hard. “You still. Loved me.”

Aziraphale’s breath hitched To hear those words leave his lips was not frightening, but overwhelming all the same. “You feared Hell, and yet you loved me, too,” he pointed out, speaking slowly and carefully.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m used to breaking the rules. I get why it was hard for you now.” His fingers were putting creases in the papers. “Still hurt, not gonna lie,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale didn’t think he ever heard Crowley admit to his feelings being hurt. “Crowley,” his voice nearly cracked. “I must apologize in person. I’m so, so sorry for ev—”

“I know,” he cut in. “You don’t need to apologize again. I’ve got every word of your letter memorized, including the apologies. Including the, uh, nice stuff, too.”

Aziraphale felt the tips of his ears grow warm. “I meant every word.” Was it safe to reach out to him? Licking his lips, gathering courage, he confessed, “You are the most precious person in the universe to me. I never intended to hurt you. Allow me to make it up to you.”

Crowley turned his face to look at him then, unmistakable tenderness softening his features, his cheekbones turning pink. He bit his lip and looked away. “I wanted to hear all this from you for so long, but hearing it is still, I dunno, it’s…” he trailed off.

“It’s hard,” Aziraphale finished for him. “I know.” 

Crowley nodded silently, seeming frustrated. “I’m a demon. I’m not supposed to feel any of this. I accepted I do a long time ago, but I guess.” He paused.

“What is it?” he asked, risking leaning in closer.

“As much as I dreamed of this, it’s still bloody hard to accept a-um,” he cleared his throat, “affection.”

“I want you to have it,” Aziraphale breathed against his ear, and when did they get precisely this close? Oh well. His heart was beating so hard that he was afraid it might give out and he would be discorporated. Their thighs were close on the sofa, almost touching. Aziraphale curled his hand around Crowley’s forearm, feeling warm from head to toe. “If only I’d told you sooner.” _He loves you. He needs you now. Do it._ Aziraphale pressed a feather-light kiss to his ear, feeling Crowley tense beneath his hand. “I love you,” he whispered, and moved to kiss his temple. “I want to show you how much.” He kissed his flushed cheek. “You’re so, so loved.” He kissed the side of his jaw.

Crowley dropped the letter and turned abruptly, hands on Aziraphale’s cheeks and mouth insistently pressing against his, breaths ragged through his nose.

 _There you are_ , his heart sighed in relief. Aziraphale was so warm, he was glowing—wait, he was actually glowing. The light bulb to a nearby lamp blew out, startling them both.

Crowley licked his lips. “I, uh, I think that was me.”

Aziraphale looked down at his hands, embarrassed at the faint golden glow. “Oh, dear.”

But Crowley’s mouth was back, his hands never leaving his face, and his lips were wet and plush and hungry. Aziraphale shared some kisses in the past when he decided to see what all the fuss over pleasures of the flesh were about, and while those experiences were very nice, no one ever made him glow. He could cry from, well, _everything_. He kissed Crowley softly, but not hesitantly. He wanted to be gentle but was quite sick of being apprehensive. He felt Crowley shiver when he parted his lips and deepened the kiss. He ran his thumb over his arm, soothing him as he decided to suck lightly at his bottom lip and was rewarded with a high-pitched noise. Aziraphale pulled back, melted at the unguarded look of adoration in those yellow eyes, and unaware, nuzzled the tips of their noses together before tilting his head to kiss him again. A small whine left Crowley, the vibration buzzing against Aziraphale’s lips and sending a tingle down his spine. Crowley cradled his face with care Aziraphale had never witnessed before. As Crowley’s chest heave he started to lean into Aziraphale, turning his body to the side. Aziraphale turned, too, and their chests were brushing. 

They kept kissing, lips melting and molding together into one. He drew Crowley’s lower lip into his mouth and sucked, trying to remember how to do this and the doubt leaving his mind when he was met with a moan. He licked into Crowley’s mouth, gently teasing his tongue before retreating and switching to small, gentle kisses to his panting mouth.

“A-Aziraphale,” Crowley’s breath shuddered.

Lord, his name sounded exquisite in that tone of voice. “Hm?” He stopped kissing.

Crowley’s yellow irises were taking up his eyes, reminiscent of Eden. He was gazing at Aziraphale like he had just performed a miracle, face full of awe. He pushed him down on the sofa by the shoulders and crawled on top of him, kissing him hard, hands sliding into his light curls and hips squirming against his.

Aziraphale gasped into the kiss, feeling a jolt of electricity below the belt. Their bodies were completely pressed together, all warm and solid, and they were never this close before. He wrapped his arms around Crowley’s shoulders, lightheaded when he felt Crowley’s heart beating fast against his. “My dearest,” he said into the kiss. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” Crowley replied, shifting and kissing his neck. “ _You_ ,” he repeated, hips squirming. “Angel,” he spoke in between hot kisses to the soft skin, “please, I need you. I can’t go without you any longer.” He sounded desperate, fingers tightening in his hair. “I’ve never felt this way and, and, fuck, I dunno what to do.”

“Shh,” Aziraphale hushed, grasping him by the chin and turning up his head so their eyes could meet. 

The whites in Crowley’s eyes were completely hidden, his eyebrows pinched and lips parted in some combination of agony and affection.

Aziraphale glowed brighter, love swelling beneath his ribcage. “It’s all right, Crowley. I’m here.” He smiled a little, hoping it was reassuring. “This feels lovely, doesn’t it?” He tilted his hips against Crowley’s for emphasis, biting back a moan when he felt their, erm, Efforts, touching. Oh, Lord, Crowley would laugh at him for referring to it like that. Actually, laughter might serve Crowley good at this moment. “I feel you’ve made the Effort,” he lowered his voice. “Feels like you did a fine job of it, too.”

It worked. A grin broke over Crowley’s lips and he ducked his head into the crook of his neck, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “What the fuck?”

“I’ve been told my Effort is rather attractive.”

Crowley lifted his head, expression caught between mirth and surprise. “Wait. Wait. People have seen your cock?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Such language!”

“I am not calling it ‘the Effort,’” Crowley snickered. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Aziraphale still glowed with love, but was glad he could make Crowley laugh during this intense moment. “Oh, I had sex a few times to know what it was like to enjoy pleasures of the flesh, you see. It was quite nice, but not worth seeking out after awhile.”

Now, Crowley’s purely looked astonished. “You, of all people. You, a prim little proper, fussy angel. Have fucked.”

Aziraphale squeezed his shoulders. “What a filthy mouth you have.”

Crowley gave a nervous laugh. “Heh, you’ve no idea.”

Crowley never lied to Aziraphale, which was how he was immediately able to tell this time was different.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Oh. You haven’t?”

Crowley turned red immediately. “I didn’t say that!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale ran his hands down his arms, “you can tell me.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Well I couldn’t do it with _you_ , so there was no point.”

They stared at each other, and Aziraphale suddenly needed to kiss him. Their lips slid smoothly together. The pressure against his groin was making him grow hard. This demon waited 6,000 years to have sex with him—to make love. _Oh, my most beautiful boy._

Crowley kissed him back in earnest, and snaked his hand down Aziraphale’s side, settling around his soft middle. He rutted into him, hips wriggling, growing hard quickly. Aziraphale had read his fair share of erotic novels, and was reminded of the description of characters being akin to virgin teenagers humping pillows. He had no idea if anyone really did such a thing, but what Crowley was doing now was pretty close to matching that act. It was in no way off-putting, however. It felt more than nice, and he found Crowley’s enthusiastic inexperience utterly charming. What was sex other than just rubbing the right body parts in the right places, after all? This was perfectly acceptable, except for the clothes separating them. 

Aziraphale broke the kiss to ask, “May I see you naked?”

Crowley’s hips stuttered and he nodded, lips parted and red.

Their clothes were gone with a thought and they gasped at the sudden sensation of warm, soft skin against skin. Crowley’s eyes rolled back and he rocked his hard cock against Aziraphale’s, moaning with his head lifted, throat long and white. Aziraphale kept one hand on his hip and used his free one to brush damp, red hair from Crowley’s forehead, nerves singing, tingling in a delicious trickle down his abdomen and gathering in his pelvis. He rocked his hips upwards, a sheen of sweat forming on his skin. He looked down at as much of Crowley’s body as he could, cock twitching at the sight of his lithe form pressed against him.

“How lovely you are,” Aziraphale said breathlessly. He wanted to see all of Crowley’s body and run his lips over every inch of it, but they were far along now and he couldn’t change the pace to something slower. He would have future opportunities to make love to him, anyway.

Crowley smothered sloppy kisses onto his bare chest, his lips making delightful wet sounds and leaving Aziraphale sensitive. He choked out a breath when a hot mouth enclosed his nipple, and he thrust his hips up in a harder, steadier rhythm, both hands now gripping Crowley’s hips tightly. Crowley’s surprised moan only vibrated against his puckered flesh, and Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself from leaning his head back with a high groan. _Pleasures of the flesh, indeed._ He had forgotten human nipples could be so ticklish (perhaps that wasn’t the correct word, but it was getting rather difficult to concentrate). Crowley’s hot tongue swirled over his nipple as he moved his hips faster to meet Aziraphale’s rhythm, and suddenly, his tongue was forked. He had mentioned before that he had the ability to do this, but Aziraphale never witnessed it until now, but it was an indescribable sensation on his nipple. 

“Your tongue,” he rasped.

Crowley lifted his head, eyes completely serpentine, mouth open, forked tongue peeking out, red from his cheekbones to his neck. He looked _pornographic_.

Aziraphale’s manicured nails dug into his hips and he bit his lip, heat swirling in his veins. “You’re _sexy_ ,” he told him truthfully.

Rawness entering his eyes, a small whimper in his throat, Crowley went back to his chest, and he did something wonderful and maneuvered his body so that his hand fit between them, wrapping around their leaking erections.

“O-oh,” Aziraphale squirmed under Crowley. He certainly forgot how good _this_ felt. Crowley’s hardness was hot and wet as it slid against his, and his hand created a tunnel just the right size for their thrusts to render them quite loud, he would admit upon reflection. As swirling pleasure built around his tip, he squeezed his hips hard and curled his toes into the fabric of the sofa cushions.

Crowley was now biting his shoulder, failing to stifle his long, deep _ahhhhhh_. “Aziraphale,” he whimpered. His thighs were trembling. “Oh, fuck, it’s so much. When’s it gonna?” he babbled. “When’s it gonna give?”

“Soon, darling,” Aziraphale said. It was approaching. Pleasure was consuming him from root to tip, and his toes were curled so hard his feet almost cramped. “Crowley,” he turned his head to the side, and bit his lip again. His most treasured love was here, thrusting and panting in his arms, and the glow inside him was getting brighter. He felt as if love were to pour from him if he opened his mouth. He was beyond grateful Crowley let him do this after all of that. “You make me so happy,” he whispered.

A sharp _ah!_ fled his lips. “Don’t say those things,” Crowley demanded, or would have, if he didn’t sound like he was about to fall apart. The rest of his body was trembling now. “You can’t just say those things!” he hissed. “I can’t take it.”

Aziraphale removed a hand from his hip to rub his back. “You must—” he had to pause to swallow back a grunt “—you must listen. I feel as if the love might burst out of me. I, my Crowley,” he whined, the combination of love and pleasure sending him into ecstasy. “Do something for me,” he pleaded, knowing Crowley would never refuse him.

Sure enough, Crowley responded immediately, “Anything.”

Aziraphale fought past the wave of lust about to crash over his brain. “Let go, love.”

Crowley cried into his shoulder, literally, two teardrops dripping onto Aziraphale’s skin, as he pulsed into his hand, coating them with his release, his hips thrusting hard and uncoordinated. In a broken voice, his swore and mewled, “Oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Aziraphale, it’s happening!” All of the lights in the bookshop went out.

Aziraphale couldn’t hold out after that and lit the whole room with golden light as hot, all-consuming pleasure washed over him, and he wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt a drawn out moan leaving his throat. He instinctively held Crowley tightly when he collapsed on top of him, sweaty, sticky flesh pressed together, filthy but divine. _Lord, I love him_ , he thought in a daze. _Please let me have him. I’ll take good care of him. I swear it._ He didn’t notice his eyes were closed until they fluttered open in reaction to fingertips stroking his curls.

The lights were still out and Crowley’s face was only illuminated by the fading golden light. There was no other way to describe it: it was like his pupils transformed into hearts. His face was softer than ever, and love radiated from him without any angelic light. He swallowed. “I know you know,” he began, shyly, “but, I really love you.”

Aziraphale gently held his hand and kissed his knuckles, feeling incredibly lucky. “How long, sweetheart?”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, flushed skin growing redder, sitting up with his bent knees on opposite sides of Aziraphale’s body, his bum resting on his plump thighs. “Angel…”

“Because I may not have known until 1941, but you’ve always been special to me,” Aziraphale told him in a hushed tone, their lovemaking and the atmosphere of the glowing room putting him in a quiet, but not unhappy mood.

Crowley took a deep breath, his eyes slowly opening, his pupils beginning to turn round again. His tongue was rounded once more, as well. “Don’t think there’s been a time I’ve known you that I haven’t,” he confessed slowly, each word difficult to produce.

Aziraphale reached up his arm and brushed a hand over his chest where his heart was. “Thank you for telling me, and returning to me.”

A small but sincere grin pulled his reddened lips up. “Aw, angel, I can never stay mad at you.”

Aziraphale held his hand. “You said that before, you know.”

“Well, it hasn’t changed. I guess I should thank you for the note. It cleared things up.”

“No need,” Aziraphale told him. “Do you forgive me for being so foolish?”

Crowley chuckled, low and sweet. “You idiot, how could you even ask that? Course I do.” He sighed a little. “Besides, I think you were right. Our sides—ex-sides—would’ve killed us. Hell did come after me, too. The holy water came in handy.”

Aziraphale sighed, too. “I’m glad I gave it to you, then.”

“I want to murder Sandalphon for punching you, by the way.”

Aziraphale giggled, his glow fading. He snapped his fingers and restored the lights to the bookshop. “He’s not worth it. If it’s all right with you, I would like to leave that ugliness behind us?” he asked hopefully.

Crowley looked at him with a touch of bashfulness. “I believe you wrote something about spending the next 6,000 years together?”

“Perhaps more?”

“Definitely more,” he murmured with serenity blooming over his features. He laughed a little. “You’ve made me as cheesy as you. I hope you’re happy.”

“I am,” Aziraphale beamed at him, genuinely glad they were more than okay. This was the happiest he had ever seen Crowley. “What a dashing smile you’ve got, dear,” he murmured, love threatening to glow again.

Crowley’s smile wobbled as embarrassment took over his face. “When’d you start with all those pet names, anyway? You never really did it before. Internalize all that poetry, did you?”

“You can act as if you dislike it as long as I can keep doing it,” he said coyly.

Crowley made a great show of rolling his eyes. “Bastard.”

“Honey.”

“Aggggh,” Crowley laid down and buried his face in his chest. “I’ll bite you with my snake fangs.”

“How dirty and kink-filled,” Aziraphale teased.

Crowley groaned through clenched teeth. “The term is ‘kinky’, Aziraphale.”

“Don’t act as if you’re the sex expert,” Aziraphale played with his hair. He felt a sharp bite to his collarbone. “Ouch!”

“Told you,” Crowley smirked up at him, fangs out and tongue forked.

Aziraphale wasn’t giving up so easily. “Your tongue felt amazing on me like that, do you know?”

The fangs retracted as his jaw dropped, his post-sex blush turning red. “Um. Ah.” He buried his face into his chest again. “ _How_ are you such a tease?” he complained. “You’re a bloody angel.”

“Never a very good angel,” he reminded him.

“True,” he turned his head so he could look up at him. “It’s why I like you.”

“Just ‘like’?”

“ _Love_ you, you insatiable bastard.”

Aziraphale sighed in bliss, and spoke the first thought which came into his head. “I look forward to another six millennia of this.”

Crowley placed his hand on his chest. “Yeah. Me too.”

* * *

Crowley agreed to toss out the letter because Aziraphale felt as if it would hold them back. He, by and large, felt the same way, but while no one was looking, he tore off the very end. He carried around a little slip of paper with neat handwriting, bearing the words “Your angel, Aziraphale” in his pocket, and pulled it out whenever he needed a smile while they were apart. It made him feel at home no matter where he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6,000 years culminating into heated humping? Hell yeah, they would lol. If you liked this, please check out my [other Good Omens fics!](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&commit=Sort+and+Filter&user_id=LollipopCop)
> 
> Come say hi on my tumblr [@obsessivelollipoplalala!](https://obsessivelollipoplalala.tumblr.com/)


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